


Black

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-02-15
Updated: 2000-02-15
Packaged: 2018-11-20 04:57:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11329047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Mulder woke up to find himself trapped in his own nightmare, and that he depended his life on his best friend and worst enemies.





	Black

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Black by Yanthee

Black by Yanthee

Author: Yanthee  
Title: Black  
Pairings: M/K  
Rating: R  
Status: WIP  
Spoilers: Nah.. It's an A/U  
Summary: Mulder woke up to find himself trapped in his own nightmare, and that he depended his life on his best friend and worst enemies.  
Notes: Many thanks for my beta readers, Julie and Nekkas.  
Disclaimer: The X-Files characters belong to CC and Fox. I just borrowed them for fun. No infringement intended.  
Feedback:   
Webpage: http://www.geocities.com/yanthee

* * *

Black  
by Yanthee

Black.

He blinked.

It was pitch black.

He gasped, tightly squeezing his eyes closed. Panic set in. //Where am I?//

A breeze.

He relaxed his muscles and opened his eyes. The blackness slowly dissipated.....turning to a dark gray. Then a small stream of light appeared. The sight became more focused. Familiar lines...cracks...spots.

His ceiling. It was his room.

He closed his eyes, this time sighing with relief, wondering when waking up in the middle of the night had turned into a horrible experience.

Consciense, along with wakefulness, was returned completely. He opened his eyes again and stared at the ceiling.

Another chilling breeze.

//Something is wrong//.

Suddenly his heart rate spiked.

//Yes, something is very, very wrong//.

Fear.

He felt his fingers turn cold. The hair on his arms and the back of his neck rose. His stomach churned.

//Oh Lord. Something is very, very wrong//.

He should move. He knew he should move. He just needed to rise. Sit. Walk to the wall. Switch the light on. And nothing would happen. This lingering nightmare that seeped into his reality would completely vanish.

He just needed to fully wake up now.

His cold and numb fingers moved slowly. He breathed again with relief when he felt that his fingers were there.

//Move, Mulder//. He grimaced, and slowly lifted his right hand. //Where the hell is that bedside lamp switch?//

His right hand searched frantically, and found the switch. He breathed. Here goes.

Bright. The sudden light was so bright he was blinded for a moment.

He blinked a couple times then slowly focused his eyes to the ceiling.

//I am awake. It is alright. I am awake//.

But no. It was not alright. It was still there. Whatever it was.

He sobbed, feeling the sudden dread return with a vengeance. And he slowly, very slowly, turned his head to his left.

His scream echoed piercingly in the silence of the night.

=================

January 1, 2000.

She looked up and watched the man in front of her slowly sink to his knees. It took a moment to register that his hand had stretched in front of her. Offering a warm cup of coffee. Offering comfort.

"Thank you, Sir," she swallowed with difficulty.

Skinner nodded, and joined her, silently sipping their coffees.

Bustling noises. People talking, clicking cameras, metallic sounds of people using communicating radios. It was all suddenly, unbearably deafening and surreal.

"How is he?"

The tone was tired, and weary, and hopelessly sad. Scully felt her eyes stinging again.

"I had to sedate him. He was in shock."

"Where did they take him?"

"Fortunately enough, to the ER."

"But--?"

"He only had minor scratches. As soon as he gets over his shock, they will book him to the station."

Silence.

"They found the knife."

Skinner closed his eyes tightly. He knew what would come from her next.

"His fingerprints were all over it."

He sighed and opened his eyes again. He took his surrounding, and finally rested on the beautiful face of Dana Scully.

Strange. He never knew how beautiful Dana was. He always thought that she was some sort of an icy woman. Devoid of life, and the only intense emotion she usually showed was her desperate devotion to her partner.

Until now.

She was much more beautiful when lines of age suddenly appeared in the circle of her eyes. In the corner of her mouth. In the space between her eyebrows. She looked suddenly much more alive. The desperation that always etched in her face was gone. Skinner felt for the first time that hopelessness suited her better. It soften her. Made her more human.

"Are you alright?"

She turned, and gave him a sad smile.

"Yes."

A creak was heard, and they both looked up to see a young man, with apologetic intention written all over his face, stand near them.

"Yes, Agent Clark?"

"I--I am afraid we have to process this as soon as possible, Sir."

"Oh."

The apologetic face turned grave. And uneasy. And sorry. Sorry for doing such an unpleasant task.

"Carry on, Agent Clark."

"Well-- Well-- umm. Yes, Sir."

Skinner noticed another man not far behind them nodded to Clark. Agent Clark shook his hand and introduced him to Skinner and Scully as Detective Mark Freemont from DCPD.

"Mr. Skinner, I will notify the Captain as soon as possible that FBI took over this case. However, for the time being, we will first take Agent Fox Mulder to the station before handing him over to you."

Skinner nodded numbly.

"So, you acknowlege that we will process this, sir?"

Skinner nodded again.

"You also acknowledge that the FBI had to be notified that Agent Fox Mulder is a murder suspect in the case of Lieutenant David Daly?"

He swallowed, "Yes."

====================

Something surreal was happening to Fox Mulder. It was as if a whole chapter of his life was discarded. No matter how strange, or how life-altering his experiences with the X-Files had ever been, he felt that if there was an invisible line dividing his life into 'before' and 'after' categories, this day was it. He had crossed that line. His life had shifted totally.

It had started when he was pushed into a car with blaring lights swirling, cuffs around both wrists. There would be no X-Files tomorrow. He could never go back. He would never again turn to Scully whenever he was in trouble. She had looked at him with an expression on her face he had never seen before and he knew that whatever bond they had before was broken.

Much later, the shy winter sunlight woke him from his daze. He found himself seated in a small room, with only a table and one other chair.

A man, he couldn't tell how old he was, faced him with a grim face. Grim, and unfriendly. Another man, young, with a rough face, with a rather friendlier manner was standing near him.

//What is going on?//

"Mr. Mulder, " the seated man warily croaked his first greeting. "I am Detective Alan Fried and this is Detective Mark Freemont."

Mulder nodded hesitantly toward them, all the while wondering why he felt so many holes appear in his head.

"We would appreciate your cooperation to talk with us today."

He nodded again, squinting when he felt a cloud appeared before his eyes.

"--- okay?"

It took a moment to register that the younger detective, Mark Freemont, had leaned toward him looking rather concerned.

"Yeah." He answered automatically.

"Do you know David Daly, Mr. Mulder?"

Blank. Something was terribly missing here. But he could not figure it out.

"Who?" He asked faintly.

"David Daly." Detective Alan Fried suddenly look gentler than he thought. "The man you slept with last night?"

The man he slept with -- //What man?//

"I don't sleep with men." Mulder felt the sudden pounding in his head. //A man I slept *with* last night?//

"Yes you did, Mr. Mulder. Don't you remember?"

"No." His voice grew even fainter.

The detectives looked each other.

"So I take it that you don't know David Daly?"

"No."

"You deny knowing David Daly?"

"Who is he?"

Mark Freemont gently said, "Are you feeling alright, Mr. Mulder?"

"I-- yes."

"Do you remember what happen last night, Mr. Mulder?"

Everything blurred. Music. Laughter.

"Party."

"Party?"

Mulder swallowed. He frantically searched for his missing confidence. Christ. //Why do I feel so unnerve? The dread would not go away//.

"I think I went to a New Year's Party."

"Where was it held?"

Where was it?

"I don't-- in the office. I think."

"How long were you there?"

The visions were getting clearer now.

"A couple hours."

"Were many people there?"

Noises. A lot of people talking.

"Oh yeah."

"Are all your colleagues?"

"No. I don't think so."

"Do you remember who attended the party?"

"Scully was there. Skinner too." He felt a small smile break through uncontrollably.

Skinner. Dancing. //Oh yeah//. He remembered that alright.

"Did you go there alone?"

"Yes."

"Do you remember how you got there?"

"Of course. I was in the office since morning."

"You never went home before it started?"

//Now, why can't I remember that?//

"I-I am not sure. No. I had no reason to."

"But you are not sure?"

"I am not sure."

"Do you remember how you went home after the party?"

Black. //Everything is blurring//.

He squinted his eyes and painfully trying to remember. He felt a sudden pang of fear.

"No." His voice sounded higher than he intended.

Detective Freemont nodded and touched his hand gently.

"Take it easy, Mr. Mulder."

Mulder nodded, could not conceal his despair now.

"Tell me that this is not a nightmare."

"It is not."

"An alternate universe?"

"Excuse me?"

"Parallel world --", he mumbled and almost laughed. //An X-File//. He sighed. "Who was he?"

Both detectives stared at him.

"Whom do you mean, Mr. Mulder?"

"The man." He swallowed. "The murdered man on my bed."

Mark Freemont stared closely at him. "He was Lieutenant David Daly."

Mulder swallowed, "From the police?"

"Local. DCPD."

He sighed, "I'm sorry."

Freemont scowled, "I'm sorry too."

"You guys think I did it?"

Their stare turned hard."Did you?"

Relax Fox. Relax. Think.

He shuddered. Trying hard to remember again. Nothing.

With a curious clinical detachment he never felt before, Mulder returned the hard gaze.

"Honestly, I don't know."

=============

It was midnight when Scully returned to her apartment. She showered, made coffee, and sat in front of the television like a programmed robot. She stared at the nothingness for almost a half hour when she finally took out the papers from her bag.

She reread those files for the thousandth time. Trying hard to dissect and see things between the lines of the report. Her headache returned with a vengeance.

Mulder did not know what happened. In fact, it seemed like something was completely missing from his memory. The something that occurred the last few hours before ---

She turned the pages and watched the smiling face of David Daly.

Something twisted painfully in her chest.

For an instant she wanted to rip the photograph apart. This man. Mulder was supposed to have slept with *this* man.

Sleep with this *man*.

...slept with *this man*. She did not know if her surging anger was caused by envy of the dead man or annoyance at Mulder's stupidity. Or even his bad luck.

The phone rang.

She jerked, staring at the thing as if ready to burst into flame. A really small voice inside urged her to pick answer, despite all her reluctance to communicate with anyone right now.

"Scully."

Silence.

She waited, her heart thumped loudly when she heard a faint breathing.

"Who is this?"

The silence was stretching. Scully knew that she must put the phone down, but somehow, she strangely felt that she should not do it. Her instinct took over.

"Is this about Mulder?"

The faint breathing stopped for a while, then returned to normal.

"Do you know anything about it?"

She clenched the phone tightly.

"Please. If it is about Mulder, say so. Otherwise, just hang up."

The silence was deafening.

Finally,

"Do you trust me, Scully?"

She swallowed. She knew that voice.

"Krycek."

"Do you trust me?"

"What do you want?"

"I want to help Mulder."

"Did you do anything to cause this?"

"I want to help Mulder."

"What's in it for you?"

The silence was deafening again.

"Did he sleep with that man?"

The question was very surprising. Not that it was an abnormal one, since it was obvious that almost everyone was wondering about that. But still, coming from Krycek, it seemed -- out of place.

"Don't you know?

Soft chuckles. "You expect me to know about Mulder's private life?"

Stupid question.

"You seem know him better than I do."

Flashes of Mulder, grinning widely at her in the morning while showing fresh evidence or important information that only made her more suspicious. She had thought that a horde of new informants, including the Three Stooges, had supplied the info, but later she realized that it all had come from Krycek.

Not a pleasant enlightment to her, and she had fought hard with Mulder about that. Especially when she knew that Mulder always got them dropped in front of his feet in the most unpredictable time, and the most unpredictable places.

That meant only one thing; the Russian had been constantly spying and shadowing him. And damned if her friend actually cared about that. The only thing he cared about was the evidence. Even his thirst for truth had overcome his judgment and hatred for the traitorous man.

"Did he?"

She almost shouted 'Why do you care?', but thought the better of it. However, the question had made her curious, and -- scared. She did not know how to describe her feeling right now.

//Is it because it felt personal?//

Skinner, the police, and everyone else had been reluctant to ask her about that. None of them felt that such a personal question should be asked of her, because it was not considered wise to speculate such a thing with the suspect's partner, or in their eyes, the suspect's 'supposed' girlfriend. They had probably asked Mulder. But Scully knew that it was based in the interest of pursuing the evidence.

Not something personal.

Like what she felt right now.

"He did not remember."

Silence.

"Meet me at Black Rose Diner in one hour."

"What do you want?"

"Do you trust me, Scully?"

"No."

"You must."

"Why?"

"I won't hurt Mulder."

She snorted. She had to stop this. But still--

"How do I know it's not a setup?"

"You don't."

"Arrogant, aren't you."

"I must be. If you call and bring anybody, I'll know. I won't show up."

The phone was dead.

She sat, listening to the dead tone of the phone as if had it turned into something alien. It was bugged, she did not doubt that.

Half an hour later, she sat in her car, thinking how stupid she was for not reporting this, and following an unreliable, dangerous source of information.

//I've turned into Fox Mulder//, she thought amusedly, and started her car.

================

Black Rose Diner turned out to be a very small and shady restaurant in the middle of downtown.

No one was there, and the Greek waiter who sat with boredom etched deeply in his face regarded her without interest and threw her the menu. She ordered tea, which finally provoked some emotion from the waiter.

"That's it?"

"Yes. I'll let you know if I want to order another."

He shrugged and left.

Fifteen minutes, and an empty tea pot later, Scully scowled. Krycek was late. Or maybe he would not show up at all.

She sat with despair, when realized that this was probably a set-up.

He probably wanted me to leave the house.

She fingered Mulder's file inside her coat, thinking of what important information was left in her living room.

A shadow suddenly appeared.

"Are you finish?"

She frowned at the waiter but nodded.

"That'll be twenty-five dollars."

"Twenty-five?" She almost squeaked with horror. "This tea only costs five bucks!!"

The man rolled his eyes.

"Well of course, lady. The twenty goes for this."

Scully watched with amazement when the waiter threw another shabby menu in front of her. A bunch of papers slipped out from the inside. She quickly took thirty dollars from her pocket and pulled them close when the waiter was trying to grab them.

"Where and when did you get this?"

"A man came just before you come."

"Why didn't you just gave me right away?"

"I wasn't sure you were the one he meant."

"And now you are sure?"

He shrugged, "Do you think I care now? Look. I need to close up."

Scully glanced at the slipping papers and realized that they were not the usual papers. They were the back of photographs.

"Pay up, lady."

"Did you peek at these?"

He snorted loudly, "This guy obviously choose me to deliver this to you without envelopes for a reason!"

Well, he looked convincing enough. She threw the money and quickly bundled the photographs inside her coat pocket and ran to her car.

Minutes later, she broke out into sobs and wept desperately, photographs littered all over her side seat.

They showed Mulder.

Five year old Fox Mulder.

Naked. Tied up.

And someone had raped him.

=========

It was an early, frosty morning, when Scully knocked on Frohike's door. It only took a second or two before the door burst open, almost as if the occupant was ready to jump outside. The three of them- Frohike, Byers, and Langly -stood with bloodshot eyes in front of the entrance.

"If you came here for what we think it is, just spill it." Frohike closed and locked the door in a precise manner.

"It is rather personal, and please don't make any unnecessary comments."

The three hackers heard the unshed tears behind her quivering voice and they nodded, full of understanding and acceptance.

Scully threw the offending photographs to the coffee table. She quickly spread them out and left to stand at the nearest window. Far from the huddle surrounding the coffee table. She could not trust not to vomit again.

The silence was deafening, and moments later very soft sighs and gasps were heard.

"I want you to find out if these photos are real."

Byers moved and handed Scully a glass of brandy. She gulped it down without hesitation.

"Anything else?" Byers' voice was extremely gentle.

"If---If it's real--," she almost choked. "Try to find out who that man is... And where and when this happened."

A long silence followed.

"Scully?" Langly.

She swallowed. God. //No question, please. Don't offer sympathy or I just--//. "Yes?"

"If you don't mind, we'd like to know where you got these pictures, and from whom."

No assurance, cooing sympathy, or offer for a shoulder to cry on. Scully smiled bitterly. The Lone Gunmen were the most reliable and most understanding bunch of people she knew.

"The direct source was Krycek. I supposed these came from the Consortium people."

Langly nodded. "We will take that information into account."

"I have to go to the office."

The trio walked her to the door, and finally, gently Frohike touched her arm, "If you need *anything*...."

Anything. //As in comfort, company..... stolen money for bail...//

Scully nodded gratefully, "I'll let you know."

==============

She knocked on Skinner's door and found Agent Clark, and the two DCPD detectives she had met two days ago, conferring with the A.D. Anger surged as the sideways glances they threw at her stated how unwelcome she was.

"The Mulder case?"

Skinner sighed, "Come to the conference room, Scully."

In the conference room, they faced each other with threat clearly written in each one's pose. Skinner stood rigidly, both hands planted firmly on the table, every finger spread powerfully. Scully stood with both arms folded in front of her chest.

"I wasn't invited." Her voice was dull and emotionless.

"I wasn't either. This is a routine interview. A.D. Tomassina took over. He's from Behaviour Crimes, remember?"

//It's not an X-File. Remember?//

"So it's agent Clark."

Skinner sighed again. "And Spender."

"Spender!!??"

"Scully--"

"Sir, don't you think this is definitely not a good start?"

"It's not confirmed yet. And it's not being taken over to the FBI, the DCPD still got it."

"Spender is biased, Sir."

"So are we, Scully, so are we...."

"Not to mention that there is no doubt that something funny is going on here. Spender of all people! Who plays again this time, Sir? The so-called Consortium? The alien conspiracy? Dumb FBI directors?"

"That's enough, Agent Scully."

She glared at him. "I didn't see Spender in there."

"I've told you. It's not confirmed yet. Tomassina has the manners to ask me first."

"Object him."

"Of course! But we still have to wait. I am not the one has the final decision in this."

She bit her lip. Skinner released his rigid pose and walked toward her.

"Look." He sounded tired. "I know how difficult this is. All I am saying is that you need to be clear-headed in this situation. Those men will come and interview you, too. I am sorry for not warning you about this."

She nodded.

"So what happens, now?"

Skinner gave her a faint smile. "I am requesting that you accompany the DCPD's forensic team for a while."

Hope surged like a volcano ready to burst. "Sir?"

"Starting today. Look, you're the best at this. Don't embarrass me."

She smiled crookedly, "I might be biased, Sir."

"Then I'll approve Spender. That will neutralize you."

Her smile broadened.

==============

Her cellphone rang a half-hour later. "Scully."

"Did you get the pictures?"

She slowly glanced around her, and cautiously proceeded with to the emergency stairwell. She moved gracefully, all the time thankful no one was around at the moment.

"You did not show up."

"I didn't think it was necessary at the moment. What do you think about the pictures?"

She swallowed the urge to hit something. "Where did you get them?"

A long silence. Finally. "It's been a while. It's a private collection I came across while doing some duty."

"You've been keeping them?"

"Almost six years now."

Six years. Six years since--- //Krycek's first disappearance//. She closed her eyes tightly. Christ. //Not--not *Bill Mulder's*--//.

"Why did you give them to me now?"

Another silence.

"Couldn't stand it any longer. Thought that maybe this could help."

"Help what?"

The long unanswered questions were beginning to bother her.

"You have other copies of them?"

A short, harsh chuckle was heard.

"You think I'm a pervert? No, I haven't thought about blackmailing Mulder."

"Do you?"

"Weeelll... I might be a little jaded. They did look nice enough for masturbation materials. I might have a copy or two, then."

"You are sick! Why?"

"Why what? Why I kept them? Tsk--tsk-- Scully. I always regarded you as a brilliant girl, you know."

"Why are you giving them to me? Why do you think this could help Mulder's situation now?"

The chuckles stopped. For some reason, Scully found herself satisfied when she recognized hitch of breath. It was a sign of nervousness.

"I believe the smoking bastard's little kid is in."

"You haven't answered my questions."

"Tell you what, Scully. I'll do my best to prevent Junior hindering your way around Mulder, but you have to keep contact with me."

"It's not a good proposition."

"I have more information."

This time, Scully was silent. She remembered how trusting Mulder was with all information come from Krycek. The man was obviously a reliable informant. And right now, she needed a reliable informant more than someone she could trust.

"How?"

"I'll contact you as often as possible. But I need other information from you as a reward."

"I don't play double agent."

"Relax. It's only information regarding Mulder's case. I won't press anything else."

"Enlighten me, Krycek. Why should I trust you?"

"Scully--." His tone turned soft. "You have *no* idea, do you?"

"I know that you are kind of crazy with Mulder. Is that the reason?"

The laughter coming from the other end was the last thing she heard before the familiar tone of dead connection took over.

By the time she reached her basement office, Jeffrey Spender was already there. She glared at him and pretended that he was not there.

"He might get bail, you know."

She turned and stared at the vacant desk opposite hers. She sighed. "Get bail, or get *the* bail?"

"Almost one million dollars. I am proposing the Bureau to pay up."

This news surprised her. She stared at the youngish face in front of her, all the time wondering the sincerity of this man. "Why?"

"Isn't this ironic? I am disappointed. I half expected you to jump for joy right now."

"Why?"

He threw a thick file over to her. "I have my reasons. You can have yours by looking at these."

She glanced, notify the big 'Confidential' sign stamped widely on the cover. It was the preliminary interrogation report of Mulder and some other witnesses.

"Try to read them before they come to take you up to the morgue."

"You've got something up your sleeve, Spender?"

The agent smiled, "Just as long as you enlighten me about your findings, Scully."

//Great//. She sighed and banged the door close right after Spender left. //One is blackmailing me for underground information, the other for keeping me in. And what will I get from this?//

She sighed loudly. "Mulder, you son-of-a-bitch. You'd better romance me after all of this is over."

===========

Captain Peter Villalba scanned both men in front of him with caution.

"As far as I knew, only one lawyer is eligible to represent the suspect in interrogation. I am not sure I am allowing a junior partner inside."

The first man, tall, black, and distinguish in his mid forties gave the Captain his predatory smile.

"All you have to do is read the Commissioner's recommendation letter, as well as FBI's."

Nothing was wrong with the letters, but this was definitely not normal. The Captain looked at the other man. Young, in his mid thirties, extremely handsome, stiff -since he was firmly hiding his hands inside his long coat's outer pockets all the time- and also as predatory as his senior partner.

"You have to know, gentlemen, that I do not like this one bit. You must remember that I will write formal complaints to both the Commissioner and FBI regarding this incident. If anything happens in the future, we won't hesitate to track you down."

"Now, now, Captain. No need to have a misunderstanding in our early introduction, right? We are basically trying to help you."

The Captain snorted. "I'll give you time to see the suspect, but I prefer you to do that in the interrogation room."

"Tsk--tsk, Captain, interrogation room without privacy? Discrimination against criminal suspects is very unpopular in this part of town, am I right? Surely you don't want to put the Commissioner in jeopardy, right?"

"The man murdered a *police* officer!"

"A police officer with a long record of sadomasochistic homosexual activities? Not to mention that the suspect is suffering traumatic temporary amnesia too. It certainly is not good for your standing, right?"

The Captain growled and quickly opened the door. "Simons! Take these men to cell 3B!"

The two lawyers walked with confidence despite the hostile glances and gestures given from all over the bullpen. Never underestimate the unnatural hate-hate relationship between cops and lawyers, or cops and cop-murder suspects.

==============

Mulder had been having another bad bout of headache when the two men came to his cells. His eyes widened when he recognized one of them, but a very small gesture from the older of the two indicated that he should not give anything away. He quickly assessed that whatever reaction he produced other than simple ignorance was harmful right now.

He nodded and gave them a quick, tight smile, refusing to meet a pair of green eyes that scrutinized him with a strange expression.

"There you go, Councilors," the rudeness from the officer accompanying them was unmistakable. He unlocked the cell, let the lawyers inside, and stood outside with a challenging pose.

"I suppose you don't particularly care to leave us in private, right?" The younger lawyer smiled with amusement.

"I am not hearing anything."

//Yeah right//. Mulder rolled his eyes.

"Agent Mulder? I am Andrew Johnston Jr, from Cannell and Smithson. I will represent you in this case."

"Who are you?" Mulder ignored the black man, and stared, without expression, at the young man behind Johnston.

"Alexander Kravinsky, Junior Assistant of Mr. Johnston here." *Krycek* smiled.

"I am surprised they let a Junior Clerk come to interview a first degree cop-murderer."

"You should appreciate our effort to do that, Agent Mulder."

"I am not sure I am willing to have representatives I don't recognize."

"The FBI appointed us. You have no choice," Johnston quickly opened his briefcase before glancing quickly to Simons, who had really tried to pretend to be a wallflower outside the cell.

"The *FBI*?" Mulder stared at Krycek and laughed.

"I suppose it is a funny situation for you, Agent Mulder," Johnston said patiently. Mulder watched the man, all the time wondering what his position in this was, and how he related to Krycek in this situation.

"You been there long to be a Junior Assistant?" He asked with a hint of resentment in his eyes.

"Long enough," the smile Krycek gave him was tight. And so was the sudden clench in Johnston's fingers. That explained enough for Mulder, and he thought that it would be best not to pursue this further.

"What do you want now? I refuse to have another long explanation of chronological sequences of my life on New Year's Eve."

"Just answer some questions we are not clear on." Mulder gritted his teeth to prevent himself from throwing the gloved hand away, when Krycek patted his shoulder.

"Starting from what?"

"Let's focus on your amnesia."

"Ah." Mulder smiled. "My only alibi." He glanced at Johnston who kept on glancing with repressed anxiety to Krycek.

"I don't particularly remember anything during that night." He pursed his lips without emotion. "--And I'm not that sure that I *wasn't* sleeping with that man any longer."

Mulder smiled inwardly when he caught a flicker of fire in Krycek's eyes before it disappeared. Both pretended not to notice, though Mulder quickly scolded himself for feeling a bit of satisfaction at unnerving Krycek.

"Tell us about the blanks in your head," Johnston started his notes. Jesus. //Just like a fucking diligent *novice*//. Mulder almost chuckled loudly.

"Start from the clearest memories left, then to the most blurry." Krycek continued.

Mulder sighed,"Aren't you taking notes? Juniors like you won't pass if you are not diligent."

Krycek glanced to Johnston. Both men stared at each other for a moment, maybe realizing that Johnston had been acting like the Junior Assistant while Krycek the senior one.

"I am a smart assistant. And I've been promoted to take over Johnston's here in the near future. Very near." Krycek grinned, ignoring the scowl coming from the black man.

However, he did move, opening his briefcase and showing a little tape recording device. "I go with this."

"Where should I start?"

"The party."

===============

The police's forensic expert was another young woman. Scully wondered why such a gory profession attracted pretty, attractive, young women. This one was a smart, but gentle-looking blonde woman in her early thirties. She was big boned, giving her an aura of stability and permanence. Even her grip was strong, and her long, big palm had drowned Scully's.

"What do you get in there?"

"Multiple wounds, died after the fourth stab in his heart. Ugly. Looked more like a random attack than a cold blood murder."

"Have you got the result of the semen sample?"

"In a moment. What are your theories?"

"Do you detect any signs of self-defense?"

"There were scars, but I was not sure it was that fresh." Sharon showed her the old scars and bruises along the arms, thighs, legs, even some in the upper body parts.

"Shackles, clamps, beating marks." Sharon snorted. "Rough sex."

"Drugs abuse." Scully nodded. Sharon leaned on her. "David? Nonsense. Where did you get that?"

Scully showed her the needle marks on the arms. They were still bluish. "Try drug substance tests. It looks pretty new."

"Got it." Sharon quickly strolled to the nearest equipment table when Scully squeaked.

"What happened?" She stared at Scully's white face.

"Have you opened his gut yet?"

"I was instructed to wait for you. Wanna?"

The question was of course just a formality. In just a few moments both women worked furiously. An hour later, Sharon ran outside toward the bathroom and retched violently.

She came back with a pale face. White as ghost. "What--", she croaked. "What the hell is that?"

"Sharon," Scully swallowed. "I am going to call some of my colleagues here while we go through quarantine procedure. You can let your Captain know about the situation, but only him and do not ask him to come here. OK? I trust you to know that this might be important and dangerous, and not many people are suppose to know what it is."

Sharon nodded weakly, and went to the internal phone. Scully, trembling violently, dialed her own cellphone.

"Spender."

"I am not sure about calling Skinner right now, but you have to quarantine the 5th precinct morgue right now."

"What happened?"

"It--it's David Daly's body."

"Do you need the CDC?" Spender quickly cut her.

"I--I--I am not sure."

"Explain what you found."

"It's his lower abdomen part.... They have --umm--*nests*."

"Nests." Spender's voice turned colder.

"Spender... there are things inside. Some sort of... *eggs*."

"Eggs?"

"Small, small, eggs. They are not moving, though I am keeping them from spilling outside, in case---"

"I'll handle it. Wait half an hour."

===================

To be continued


End file.
